


King Kil'mawalls

by PerpetualSpinster



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel
Genre: Black Character(s), Black Panther (2018) Spoilers, NSFW, Other, Post-Black Panther (2018), Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 16:03:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14405622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerpetualSpinster/pseuds/PerpetualSpinster
Summary: After Erik ingests the Heart Shaped Herb after his battle with T'Challa, winds down before meeting with tribal leaders.





	King Kil'mawalls

**Author's Note:**

> Word Count: 3.5K

His breath is heavy, labored as he regains his senses.  
What kind of magic trick was that? He ponders, bewildered by the comforters around him. His newly acquired court send him wavering words of sympathy and encouragement, their faces telling the whole story of their concern. They fear him and want to avoid his possible stampede from the abrupt confusion placed by his subconsciousness.  
An elder woman grabs his hand, “Are you alright, my King? What did you see?”  
Erik tightens his eyes closed to fight back his tears, shaking his head and snatching his hand away.  
“The fuck you mean, what’d I see? Did y’all try and poison me or something, what the hell is this about?” Erik steps toward her, towering, nostrils flared in a bullish width.  
The elder steps back slightly, “No, my King. The purple herb gives you the strength of the Black Panther. When you are in this room, you must visit with your ancestors for clarity on your position as King.”  
Erik looks away, thinking for a moment, “So that was real, what I saw?”  
The elder nods vigorously, “Yes, this is the tradition for generations of rulers. It’s a means of guidance and encouragement to determine your ruling strategy and-”  
“Well we don’t need all that no more, do we? This herb you got around here, why you keep so much of it?” Erik stalks around the garden.  
“It’s for our leaders of the future. Those who come to rule after you and so on will be able to carry on the monarchy.”  
Erik nods slightly, “Yeah, you can get rid of all that.”  
The elder shuffles up to him, “But my King, this is a necessary-”  
Erik turns and clasps his hand around her throat, swiftly lifting her in the air. His arm covered in veins and scars branch out under the woman’s chin as she dangles gasping for air and mercy.  
“You’re gonna have to learn real quick that when I tell you to do something, I mean that shit.”  
He then opens his hand letting her crumble to the floor. She pushes her hand to her chest, coughing and crying.  
“Burn it all!” Erik barks at his court, who then take surrounding torches, grazing the flames along the petals of the the Purple Herb. It takes a moment before the fire becomes contagious, each plant curling up and withering under the ferocity of the burning.  
Erik looks around as the flames travel across the grounds. He smiles in satisfaction over the destruction. Keeping himself as the sole retainer of the power of the Black Panther, he is sure to take his mission outside of Wakanda and across the globe. Starting with a flicker, War Dogs all over will be given the strength to knock out their most formidable oppressors.  
As Erik looks on, a voice calls to him, “My King, we need to get you cleaned up and ready to meet with the military head and tribal leaders.”  
Turns and sees you. You’ve been instructed to lead the King to bathing cove and help him prepare for his introductory meeting with the other tribe leaders as King. He stands there, eyeing you up and down, reinforcing his already robust posture. You feel nerves shoot to the pit of your stomach as you guide your hand in a swoop, leading him to the next destination. The change of rulers is still fresh, but you have already been relayed with all of the back story regarding the newly acquired King from the outside. He is the first cousin to T’challa who met his demise during an impromptu challenge battle where the only witnesses were the previous royal family and some ranking military. Erik’s Wakandan name is N’jadaka, his father N’jobu, who was the brother of T’chaka. The new revelation is that T’chaka killed N’jobu in cold blood, leaving his nephew in America on his own. It is a cold and disgraceful way to settle the bad blood between brothers and the truth was a lot to bear on the royal family. Trading vibranium to unknown persons for an unofficial mission of liberation is, however, unforgivable. But Erik has shown his power with about as much grace as ox on a tightrope. The mess he has created makes everyone uneasy about the future, but what alternative do they have?  
As you walk, it feels like ages getting to the cove, you feel Erik’s eyes on you from behind. He has little trust for the people around him, which is believable given the circumstances. But you are in no way looking for a fight, just to do your job and learn your way around the new ruler.  
You turn to face and open the wide silver doors engraved with Wakandan symbols telling various prayers, to the bathing cove. It is an outdoor spring that is covered in Wakanda’s finest vegetation that add comforting fragrance in the air and attracts gorgeous insects and small wildlife alike. The evening is approaching as the skies above make a reddish, pink hue.  
You turn to Erik who is surveying the environment. His hard facade seems to crack a little at the beauty surrounding him. His fists unclench to rest one on his hip, the other on his chin to scratch his beard.  
“So this is how y’all bathe yourselves?” He asks in a condescending tone, mouth partly open with an attitudinal expression.  
You choose your words carefully as you answer, “It is how a King bathes. I hope it will suffice for now.”  
Erik walks up to the edge of the spring, dipping his fingers in for a moment before pulling it back out and flicking the access, “Yeah, now this I could get used to.”  
You smile to yourself watching him look at his reflection. His back is hunched a broadened as he kneels. His pants reveal where the end of his scars are and you can’t help but imagine what the complete picture of his backside consists of.  
Tentatively, you say, “I am glad it pleases you. My King, it is also in my duty to help you wipe down and clothe you for your meeting but I understand if you would rather be alone.”  
Erik stands up and turns to you. He looks at you a quizzically rather than suspiciously. “The King can’t wipe his own ass around here?” He sucks his teeth, “No wonder T’challa was a easy takedown. Too soft round here.”  
You look down for moment, suddenly embarrassed. T’challa was the proper King if only for a moment, taking down M’baku who is more than an exceptional warrior. But you push those thoughts aside. “It is the way of our people thanking the King for his leadership, making sure his most menial tasks are taking care of so that the bigger picture of Wakanda’s survival is your priority.”  
Erik scoffs. This creates a tightening in his midsection that you instantly notice every block of his abs and look away before he sees.  
“Wakanda’s survival? That’s what I keep hearing is priority. But that’s gonna change today.” Erik walks up to you; you feel anxious not knowing what to expect next in your current situation. He stops short, less than a foot of space between you, he looks down at you, head cocked to the side. He’s playing with you, trying to get your to sweat but you stand your ground. Your face remains respectful, not looking him in the eye, but straight ahead which happens to be directly at his chest. After awhile, you get lost in the kaleidoscope of scarring he has along his pecs, shoulders, abs. What does it all mean? Americans don’t do scarification in the traditional sense, what’s his need for it. Suddenly he snatches the towel you were holding in your hand, breaking your trance you look up at him. He is smirking at you, teeth still maintaining a glisten in the waning sunlight. That smile runs in the royal family too; big, straight, wide teeth that can make your fearful and swoon depending on the occasion.  
Erik steps away, bowing his head as it appears he is working on undoing the front of his trousers. You risk getting caught to see how far he goes. Is he really going to change in front of you? Did you miss the cue to leave or is this it? You decide to turn halfway from him in case he turns so you can appear professional. His back muscles contract as he reaches around to his hips and bends fully over, revealing all ass in front of you. As you assumed, his lower half is without blemish, completely scar free, taut, and thick with power from years of military training and running the underworld of black market vibranium trading. His back has the perfect Adonis shape, wide at the shoulders for hold, tapering at the midsection for straddle. You lose your train of thought, giving into the sight of his shapely thighs, and indents on the sides of his cheeks are perfect symptoms of the power he possesses given the right direction.  
By now he has wrapped the towel around him and you turn away in time for him to not know. He looks back at you, “Aight, come on so we can get this done.” You nod and walk over to a bench and motion for him to sit. He plops down as you gather the water in a basin and bottles of essential oils. He still has remnants of the red sand from his awakening ceremony and you take a moistened towel to his shoulders. The grains are dragged away under your pressure, and your feel his skin after every brush. It is surprisingly soft considering the keloids and hardness of his muscular anatomy. You hear Erik’s breath beginning to deepen as you work over to the other shoulder, then down his back. He jumps once when you get to his sides. Our high ruler is ticklish? You smile to yourself while apologizing for startling him but make mental note to tell the others later. His back being done, you make your way in front of him, suddenly shy. His gaze never leaves you as you wet your towel again, squeezing it and preparing to start at his chest when he quickly grabs your wrist. His hand stills you completely as you wonder what to do, what had you done, and what will he do. His face is unreadable, as it is defaulted to a snarl.  
Erik leans forward, face mere centimeters from yours, and says, “The water’s getting cold,” slowly her unlocks his grip and you breathe a sigh of relief internally. You nod with understanding and make way to pull from the spring some fresh water. Walking back over, Erik has a smile, bearing his two gold caps on his lower row teeth. He is enjoying every minute of control over you.  
“Do you ever loosen up around your King? I ain’t gonna bite you or nothin’” Erik bites his bottom lip as you kneel in front of him, cleaning of one of his pecs.  
“I take my job as a high honor to be taken seriously. I don’t want to be seen as lazy or immature,” you note.  
“Well while I’m here, you go ahead and make yourself comfortable. You ain’t gotta impress me or anyone else around here. We all have our own minds to think with and autonomy over what we do.”  
You nod and mutter a thank you. Here is the revolutionary thinker you keep hearing about. You were wondering why this man had set his sights on a monarchy if he is so diplomatic but one has to weave through contradictions to get to the truth.  
You begin to work on slathering oil across him, when you dare to pry into his personal life, “Why do you have these scars all over you, my King?”  
Erik gives you a look that reads somewhat of surprise, his eyebrow raises for a moment. He takes your hand, gentler this time, and places it on one pec.  
“These I earned in Iraq,” he slides your hand to the right one, “These were in Afghanistan.” Your mouth practically hangs open at as you watch your hand caress each bump along the way. You feel his heartbeat underneath all the stern masculinity, it’s quick and knocks against your palm. You feel warmth crawl up your cheeks as your eyes meet his. Despite the many scars and ferocious personality behind his brute strength, he has the appearance of someone youthful, even a hint of innocence. Your guard becomes broken as you lose yourself in the gaze of his dark eyes. You know the dangers that lie beneath but can’t help the curiosity that takes over to find out what lurks within.  
He has been leaning slowly towards you, sliding your hand to the center of his chest then slowly down his stomach. “And these were just for fun.” Soon your hand finds a firm, foreign area before you realize and you reel your hand back. You stand up, breathing becoming more shallow, a sudden ache comes between your legs that you try to keep your mind off of. The King is seducing you but that’s not your intention or what your job is to do. What would the elders think? You couldn’t possibly explain this.  
Erik smiles wide, gold twinkling, he pushes off his knees to stand. His towel hangs low around his waist revealing the creases on either sides of his hips. Much like before with the scars, you wonder how the trail ends past the dividing fabric. He stalks over to you until he is face to face with you. His expression is smoldering with passion, he looks you over intently, studying your face, down your front, perfectly eyeballing you like a prized artifact. He reaches to for your hips and pulls you into him gently but firm.  
“You scared of me?” Erik says in a low throaty tone.  
A natural sway begins between you two as he keeps ahold of you. Your gaze does not leave his as the moment builds, that ache beneath you begins to throb as his swollen manhood greets your pelvic region.  
Your inhibitions melting away you say, “Never, my King. I am nothing but loyal to the throne.” Erik bites back a smile, relaxing his mouth then bring it down upon yours. You both lock up for a moment, shoots of electric sensations course through your body as you fall right into his trap. His hand snakes up your spine to grab the back of your hair, pulling it gently as he breaks away from you.  
“You willing to risk it all for me?” Erik says through his teeth.  
“Anything you need, I am willing to provide,” you say.  
On cue, Erik squats and grabbing you under your ass and tossing you up, you wrap your legs around his waist. Your arms wrap around his neck, hands find his locs, massaging his scalp as you two wrestle your tongues inside each others mouths. You kiss each other in passionate hate, he walks you toward the silver doors pressing you against them as his hands move from your thighs to your clothing. He reaches for the hem of your top pulling it over your head, you raise your hands in surrender your body for full view. As for your bottoms, he just rips that away with complete disrespect. The quickness of the motion just brings you into heat even more, remembering the power he wields and is about to unleash on you. Your hands find his towel, effortlessly falls to the ground giving you the grand reveal. His member was just as veiny and and tumescent as the rest of his body. There was no stopping what was about to happen, a sudden need flushed over you for him that you practically begged for relief.  
“Please,” you breathe, “I need you inside of me, my King.”  
Erik smirks that villainous way, he knows he’s got you where he wants you. He reaches down and feels you out. You shiver under his touch, he finds your pleasure center and keeps his eyes locked on your face as you squirm, mouth agape. Your hands grab the sides of his face in desire. He takes his hand away but does not return it in view. Instead you feel the firm width of his tip circling your entrance.  
“Shit, you musta been ready for me huh?”  
Slowly he creeps into you, he begins to crack under the new pressure, looking down to steady himself. You lock your legs around his legs once more, arms tightly wound his neck readying for his entrance. He looks back at you, grabbing under your chin, kissing you deeply, distracting your consciousness before you notice him filling you up. You slip out a squeal, stabbed with just the beginning of his plight to murder you with lust. His hand covers your mouth, showing his golds in self-satisfaction over your audible shock. He continues to ascend your canal, with every part of his length it seemed to not have an end until he let out a deep sigh. He pulls back his hand to grip your thighs and ass while he pulls away and begins to pump into you. Your vision can barely focus on anything as you search his body for a roper place to hold on for the ride. As you caress his shoulders the marks on his body, giving you palms a massage that make you feel even more relaxed and sent over the moon. You hug him close and kiss as many of them as you can as he knocks your ankles loose, up and down his dick. The slapping of your bodies coming together, your shrieks of each stroke, his grunts and curses under his breath it seemed neither of you cared whether someone were to overhear.  
He gives one last pump, “Get down real quick. Turn that ass around to me.” you do so without hesitation, bending over, hands on the door, your legs spread, you shake your hips from side to side in puppy-like anticipation. Erik’s hands caress your behind, smacking one side, then the other. You squeal at the sharpness but the relief from the pain melts with your arousal quite nicely. One hand is on the small of your waist as you begin to feel the familiar pressure. Your wetness speaks for you, as the slickness sings praises to you and his reunion. He dives into you fully, then backs out, leaving you empty and needy, he repeats this over and over. This man knows what this is doing to you, as you back into him with every attempt he takes to leave you.  
Erik whispers in a smoldering tone, “You want this dick back in you?”  
You nod, moaning an affirmation.  
“Say it then.” he growls. This time his ferocity sent shivers down you in a different way than before.  
“Please, my King. I beg you.”  
He leans over your back, his breath steams your neck as he pushes back in with a rough thrust.  
You begin to bounce back against him, impatient with his pace. He chuckles at your efforts but glides his tongue up your back to your neck, sucking away as you lose control from the sensuality. Soon he bounces with you and you give up hunching under his jackhammering power as he gives you all his might and then some bearing into you.  
“Now, who am I?” He asks you.  
You open your mouth but are speechless as you reach your peak.  
You feel his hand at the back of your head, your hair in his clutches as he tugs you up, his other hand clutches your stomach as he bangs you standing.  
“I said who the fuck am I,” he growls, not letting up on his strokes, hips scooping into you vigorously. You grab behind for his ass, feeling the contractions of his muscles within his flutes, slick with sweat and you can't take anymore, and you shout, “My King! You are my King,” and with that he lifts your leg, giving your walls another angle of ecstasy. He curses louder as he gives you a few more pumps, pulls out, showering your behind with his seed, sliding himself between the crease of your ass for good measure. Still against you, he growls and shudders as he rests his head on your shoulder.  
“See what you made me do?” He whispers hoarsely.  
His hand holding your waist is all that’s keeping you up as his breath warms your back. You both are out of breath, completely spent, he walks away to the spring, sitting in the water.  
“Aight, you can get outta here now. I need some privacy.”  
Brought back to reality, you walk gingerly over to your discarded clothing, luckily your shirt is long enough to cover most of your indecency but your trek back to your quarters will need to be quick to avoid questioning. This could never happen again, you think to yourself. You look back once more before leaving, at the exceptional body of work that just came between you, you definitely don’t regret having volunteered for duty today.


End file.
